


Bird's Milk

by Dameceles



Series: Standing Eight Count [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Romance, Boss-Employee Relationship, F/M, Family, Language Barrier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dameceles/pseuds/Dameceles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s bad enough that her parents send Hinoka worried looks when asking about her love life, there’s no way they’ll just let her getting drunk married in Cyrkensia to a man from Nohr slide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird's Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [No Shame November](http://damoselcastel.tumblr.com/post/132735971406/no-shame-november-is-a-go) cause I'm addicted to AUs and forced proximity for my OTPs. This is not meant to be taken seriously, so please have fun with picturing modern!Cyrkensia as FE Vegas with Elvis impersonators instead.

This isn't the first time Hinoka has visited Cyrkensia, but it's her first time here while on a job. The final leg of the Ultimate Fighter Championship is to be held in the Octagon of this city, and she's been chosen to photograph the entire event! Or at least, do so for Skyhorse Magazine.

Though she isn’t the only one here for the UFC.

Hinoka's older brother is the reigning champion within the discipline of Judo in her homeland. But a few years ago he started to participate in international mixed martial arts competitions, and this is the first time he’s made it to the finals tournament. All of Hoshido hopes that Byakuya Ryouma will sweep the heavyweight division of the tournament and take the championship belt. Or at least it'd seemed that way when they’d boarded the plane and all his adoring fans had waved goodbye, crowding the terminal as far as the eye could see.

As much as she loves her brother, Hinoka's relieved that he isn’t the fighter she’ll be following. It's bad enough that they're sharing a hotel room with twin beds, no matter that with their schedules they're rarely in the room at the same time save being passed out under the covers.

Meanwhile her boss is being his usual frustrating self and putting a damper on her silver lining. She’d tried asking him on the plane about the fighter they’d be following, and he'd just pulled on a sleeping mask and refused to talk- by promptly sleeping straight through their twelve-hour flight. Only waking to eat, likely cause he knows she can’t stand when people talk with their mouth full. She was so jetlagged when they land she forgets to pester him.

Thankfully now that they’re in the Nestrian studio space and setting up for the shoot, Asama is willing to talk. Finally, she’s got the nationality and name of the middleweight fighter that Skyhorse Magazine would be getting exclusive interview rights to throughout the tournament:

One Nohrian fighter, Anya Marx— or Marx Anya as they say it on the western side of the continent.

As per usual, she’s nagged Asama into arranging the chairs. Since he likes to interview between shots and the visual arrangement on the part of the subject is important. And as always, he’s taking twice as long as she would’ve. Hinoka doesn’t badger him over it since he's still talking about the fighter, "You know how it is, tragic history helps build the man into a hero. And if Nohr could use anything, it's a hero."

It’s well known that the largest westernmost nation has its issues: internal strife, government corruption, rampant crime, poor infrastructure and food distribution. Though in recent years Prime Minister Shenmei has spearheaded many reforms and the country seems to taking its first shaky steps towards modern progress.

With the backdrop stretched out, now Hinoka’s checking to make sure all the studio lights are at the right angles. She asks the man in the room with her, "What's this fighter’s history?"

"Having me spoil the scoop before the article comes out?" Asama teases. But her boss knows Hinoka feels more comfortable going into a shoot knowing about the person, so he spills the details. "Anya Marx's father was a notorious leader in the Nohrian mafia, and Marx was being groomed to be his successor. But like all good stories there's a twist! Apparently he didn't want a life of crime for his younger siblings and made a deal with the government. He aired the mafia's dirty laundry so that witness protection would give the rest of his family a second chance at life. Then the little problem of making an honest living came up."

Done adjusting the lights Hinoka moves to the camera on its tripod to make sure everything lines up. While looking through the viewfinder, she asks, "So he started fighting for the UFC?"

"Not right away..." Asama smiles like he always does when saying something he’s been told not to. "The article won't include his past in the underground ring as his handlers wouldn't give us this exclusive if I mentioned it publicly. But needless to say you get money for winning competitions, legal and otherwise, so Marx won and fed his family."

Hinoka shouldn't be surprised by that, since fighters come from all sorts of backgrounds and many have to make sacrifices to get where they are today. But with her own family involved in the competition it makes her stop and think on things like 'he fought so his family could eat'. Representing Nohr on the world stage gives financial security, but the Darwinian selection for athletes meant only a handful of greats are able to do so. This Marx making it big with such chips on his shoulders is impressive to say the least.

Asama continues breezily on. "Anyway, he's an internationally recognized Sambo Master, and all bets are that Marx is going to be the one that ends up in the finals against that brother of yours. Should be an interesting match since they both focus on takedowns and grapples." At last he’s adjusted the chairs to their proper places, but then he looks around the room and says, “Ah, I knew I’d forgotten something. Be right back with some water bottles.” Before she could say anything her boss tottles out of the studio.

Hinoka pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. Of course Asama leaves when there’s mere minutes until the fighter’s scheduled to arrive. She considers dashing after the wayward interviewer, but then the door to the studio opens.

A tall, blond man walks into the room wearing only his fight kit— compact shorts and tee-shirt in the colors of the Nohrian flag. He’s carrying a pair of soft-soled shoes and an athletic jacket in one hand, but nothing else. From his expression she thinks he’s not thrilled to be here, but maybe the planes of his face are simply harsh. Then his dark eyes cut to her, and Hinoka feels very much like a bug pinned to a board.

Without hesitation he strides to stand before her, opens the severely pressed line of his mouth— and says something in a language she cannot comprehend.

“What-” She starts, but then realizes that she’s speaking in Hoshidan. So Hinoka switches to Nestra standard, _“What’d you say?”_

His already low eyebrows furrow further, but he says, _“You question? I talk, fight. Here?”_ His Nestra standard is terribly broken— though it’s not like she's more than barely fluent. Dammit, it’s Asama’s job to translate where is he!?

The blond man is watching her like a hawk, likely waiting for an answer. So Hinoka sucks up her internal panic and points to him. _“Are you Marx Anya?”_ It takes a moment but he nods. She points to herself, _“I’m the photographer for Skyhorse Magazine. I’ll be photographing you while Asama interviews in addition to some cover shots beforehand, and throughout the week at events.”_

The look he gives her makes it obvious she’s said too much too fast and he likely hasn’t caught a word. So she moves her hand to rest on her camera, his eyes follow the motion. “ _Photographer,”_ She pronounces evenly, not slow or fast, then points to herself again. _“Hinoka.”_

 _“Hi-no-ka.”_ His accent is thick as he repeats her name. A shiver rushes down her spine when he does it again— then she realizes he’s holding up the extra articles of clothing, likely to ask where he can put them. He lets her swipe them; she places the shoes and jacket on an out of the way table. But she turns around and freezes like a deer in headlights when she finds Marx just a step behind her, pulling his tee-shirt off.

Damn he’s cut. And there’s a dusting of pale hair across his chest and down his abdomen that’s so unlike the other bare male chests she’s seen in her lifetime. There's also a strange scar on one of his upper arms, it reminds her of a burn but the shape looks composed— almost like a tattoo had been badly removed. He tosses the clothing onto the table to join the rest, her eyes snap up and finds the barest hints of a smirk dancing about his face. She gives into her inner child and sticks her tongue out at him.

Professionalism bulldozed, she proceeds to direct him to the chair at the center of the set and they're able to communicate enough so that he knows that she’s posing him— rather than randomly groping. He’s surprisingly obedient, turning his head when she so much as nudges his jaw with her hand and keeping his arms in whatever pose she arranges them in— no matter if she takes one shot or twenty.

The one thing she doesn’t even try to control is the face he makes. The moment she’s back behind the camera, it’s the serious frown that he’d entered the room with— and well, it works as far as a game face goes. Having to examine him over and over, Hinoka admits to herself that he’s handsome in a statuesque sort of way. Despite his dour expressions, Marx proves to be completely photogenic. If his career as a fighter wasn’t so successful she’d suggest he become a model.

After taking a variety of shots with him sitting, Asama still hasn’t returned so Hinoka tries to get Marx into more dynamic poses out of the chair. She’s manages to get him standing, and she quickly throws an extra sheet over the chair to hide it without disrupting her boss’s arrangement. But their height difference makes physically posing him while he’s standing awkward, and that language barrier is still in the way. At least he’s listening as she asks him a second time, _“Could you get into a fighting pose?”_

He doesn’t shift his stance, so she knows he’s not understanding. After making sure that he's still watching her, maybe too closely, Hinoka slides herself onto the balls of her feet in a defensive stance. He brow raises as she says a single word, “ _Fight.”_

That does the trick. Marx bends his knees and assumes fighting posture, his arms up and out before him. Hinoka feels a smile break over her face as she holds up her hands and tells him, _“Please stay.”_ His dark eyes follow her as she darts back behind the camera and begins snapping shots.

After a dozen or so, the Nohrian man rumbles something she can’t understand. When she draws away from her camera he speaks again, _“Want closer?”_

He’s offering to pose himself, so Hinoka enthusiastically nods and her interpretation proves right. He moves closer to the camera with a compact movement he might use to approach an opponent in the ring. She’s glad she set the shutterspeed high as it’ll freeze the nuances of his smooth movement. He actually punches, pulling the movement before he touches the camera lens, and rather than flinching she eats it up getting as many shots as she can.

This continues, with him adopting various stances and motions for things like takedowns and grapples, until Hinoka’s camera beeps at her— informing that she’s filled up the memory. She really let herself get carried away to fill up her thirty-two gigabyte capacity SD card. She tries to tell the Nohrian fighter to take a break— it gets ungodly hot under those fill lights, as she switches out her memory card for a fresh one in her bag. Once she can find it at least.

She’s rummaging around said bag when Marx’s voice rumbles just behind her. _“You fight?”_

Hinoka glances over her shoulder and does indeed find him there, not quite hovering. _“Yes.”_ She answers him, turning around as her hand finds the small shape it’d been looking for. His head cocks to the side so she lightly slaps a hand against her thigh. _“Kick-boxing.”_

When Hinoka had chosen to start training in a foreign discipline rather than following her familyline school’s style of Judo, there’d been conflict. But she’d stuck to her guns, since it was the travel involved that she’d really loved— seeing more of the world than just beyond her ancestral home. It was on one such trip that she’d purchased her first DSLR camera and discovered a passion, and it was hard to regret a choice that lead to where she was today.

She watches Marx’s eyes glint at her answer. It’s clear he’s excited, but he holds himself in check as he asks, _“Show?”_

The door to the studio flies open and a familiar voice rings out, “You wouldn’t believe the terrible vending machines they have in this country! I had to go into a different building to find anything outside of soda pop.” Asama trundles through with three large water bottles in his arms. His disgruntled expression immediately brightens as her boss spies Marx.

He immediately launches into speaking with the blond man in what must be Nohrian, and the fighter responds just as quickly. Hinoka slips past them and loads the new memory card. But before she can ready the camera for the shots that’ll be taken during the interview, Asama calls her name.

She spins and manages to catch the water bottle that would’ve smacked her in the face, sending her boss a glare. It doesn’t change his grin as Asama says, “Marx wants to see you kick-box. We’ll be going to a gym after this interview, so would you mind showing off there?”

Hinoka glances at the tall Nohrian and finds him watching her with curious eyes. What could it hurt? “Alright, but only after I take some live shots of him going through his routine."

 

.x.O.x.

 

The interview goes quickly enough, as does the documentation of Marx’s routine at the gym. Hinoka gets her turn with the punching bag, and it’s been a long time so she lets herself go to town— uncaring that the vicious kicks leave her tanktop and yoga pants clinging to her body with sweat. But it seems to be what the blond fighter wanted to see as he gives her an honest to goodness smile as he hands over a towel and says something in Nohrian. Asama laughs at whatever it is, and when Hinoka asks him to clarify her boss simply teases that Marx is smitten with her.

Ignoring him, she asks Marx, _“Good?”_

And he nods, _“Good.”_

After a use of the gym’s showers they make their way to a bar, which’re littered throughout the Cyrkensian streets with obnoxious neon signs. The one Asama chooses is more low-key, though she suspects he also chose it because it’s conveniently close to the main strip where it’ll be easy to hail a cab. Her suspicions are confirmed when he pulls out the company credit card and says something to Marx that has the blond man flagging down the bartender.

She catches her boss’s eye. “Are you really having us drink on Skyhorse’s dime?”

“Oh relax! This is part of the interview process.” Asama hardly allays her fears, but quickly turns to place an order for scotch and bourbon. Marx gets a cocktail involving vodka. Hinoka gives in, orders a rum and coke.

As they drink the two men do continue to talk, she doesn’t know of what so it’s possibly a continuation of the interview. Hinoka finds herself steadily relaxing and just listening to the changes of cadence and tone of the conversation. Marx has a deep voice but it isn’t gravelly, it’s actually rather pleasant to listen to.

 _“Hinoka.”_ Her eyes that’d been drifting closed fly open to find the fighter’s dark eyes on her. He holds up a smart phone and asks, _“Family. Want see?”_

She quickly nods and scoots her barstool closer to his as he lowers the phone for her to look. She notices that his feet are planted on the floor while hers dangle, and she grips the countertop of the bar as she leans to avoid tipping too far into his space. On the electronic screen is a picture of four people— the tallest she recognizes as Marx, then there’s a tall woman in clingy black leather with pale, curly hair, a blond young man who looks to be wearing a highschool uniform, and a blonde girl with long pigtails who looks to be a middleschooler. They’re bunched together to fit in the shot and it looks to have been taken when the other three laughed as Marx scowls. A grey cement wall is the backdrop, the lighting a little dim, and Hinoka wonders who'd taken the picture.

Instead she points, _“Sisters?”_

He nods, and brings his own hand up to tap over the young man’s face. _“Little brother. Too smart.”_

His expression is a little pained but he’s smiling. Confused, she asks, _“Too smart?”_

“Marx is hoping to send his brother to university with the championship money.” Asama pipes in, already halfway through his second glass. “Says he’s been accepted into Shirasagi U, but the scholarships won’t totally cover the all costs.”

Shirasagi University is the most prestigious establishment of higher education in all of Hosihdo. Only those with the highest test scores and top GPAs can even hope to have a chance at being admitted. For a boy from Nohr to not only be accepted but also receive scholarships- smart's an understatement. But that education does come with a high price tag, especially for international students… and she doubts Marx himself had attended university with his fighting career. So for him to be trying to help his brother pulls at the heartstrings.

Hinoka has to gulp down what drink's left in her glass. She’s going to have a hard time cheering for Ryouma if he ever ends up in the ring with the man sitting beside her. No wonder Asama had gunned for exclusivity with this fighter- he really is a hero. When she peeks over at him, Marx is giving her a concerned look so she tries for a reassuring smile. _“That’s nice of you to look out for them.”_

His brow furrows and she rewords, _“Take good care of family.”_

His expression smooths with understand and his gives a half-hearted shrug. _“Try.”_

Her hand is on his shoulder before she realizes it as she says, _“Nice.”_ He doesn’t flinch at the touch— she’s been touching him plenty earlier that day, but she swears a bit of color is flooding into his pale cheeks.

Then the other member of their group calls out and she lets go as the blond man turns to face him. Hinoka finds herself watching the strong lines of his neck as he turns to Asama when her boss says something to him in that guttural language that flies over her head. He’d changed into more casual clothes now that the shoots were over— currently wearing a button up shirt, tennis shoes, and pair of denim jeans that hugged his trim hips in just the right ways.

The way she's oogling this stranger is highly unprofessional... but this isn’t technically a business gathering, is it? Hearing the ice jiggle in her empty cup, she decides that she can blame the alcohol if nothing else. And the bar tender takes her contemplating gaze as a call for more, as he slides another glass of rum and coke in front of her. She’s about to protest but the memory of the way the compact shorts Marx wore sat low on his hips and did nothing to hide the sleek curve of his ass— has Hinoka picking the glass up for a swallow.

Asama abruptly stands up, his barstool noisily sliding to make way.

“I promised Setsuna to send the transcript and photographs tonight, so I’d better head out now!” He announces, far too chipper. Asama pauses before Hinoka, holding out the company credit card, “Here, trade me. Marx is staying at the same hotel we are so you can just take a cab back after enjoying some more drinks! Don’t worry, I already told him this plan.” Taking the card, Hinoka lets him pry her camera bag from her suddenly jealous arms.

“One scratch on my camera and you’re a dead man,” she mutters.

Her boss flashes Hinoka a grin, “Why don’t you show Marx a picture of your family?”

He hovers until she nods and takes out her cellphone, then he says something to the blond man in Nohrian. She hands the phone over to Marx, while she fuzzily watches Asama stride out of the bar as if he hadn’t any care in the world. He’s up to something. Or already plastered. But he’s left their magazine’s exclusive fighter in her sole care so Hinoka decides if Asama passes out in a gutter he’s on his own for the night, she'd bill him for the camera.

Hinoka’s slightly jostled, and she turns to find Marx nudging her with his elbow. He’s holding her cellphone between them and points to the picture of her family on the screen. _“Sisters?”_

She leans against him and points to Sakura’s young face. _“Sister.”_ Then moves her finger over Mikoto. _“Stepmother.”_ He cocks his head but seems to understand so she continues on, tapping Ryouma, Kamui, then Takumi’s faces. _“Brothers.”_ Finally pointing to Sumeragi. _“Father.”_

Marx says something in Nohrian, then speaks in Nestra standard, _“Big family.”_ She just smiles at him and thinks it could be bigger.

 

.x.O.x.

 

The buzzing of her phone is what wakes Hinoka up.

She really doesn’t want to. Cause as the void of sleep slips away she starts to feel the pounding behind her temples, muscles aching, and how a terrible fuzz has grown over her tongue. She’s also reluctant to reach out from under the soft covers where it’s blissfully dark and warm. But as the buzzing stops momentarily then proceeds again, she forces her arm out and gropes blindly until she finds her phone.

She brings it down into the dark with her and answers the call. “What.” Her voice is hoarse and she should really get up and drink three glasses of water.

“I was worried you dropped your phone in the gutter.” Asama says, too loudly— though part of her brain not cataloging the pains of being hung over recognized his voice wasn’t raised. “Hinoka, do you know where you are?”

“In bed, trying to sleep.” She huffs, feeling herself drowse and being all for falling back into slumberland.

Strangely, his tone wasn’t teasing as he asks, “Can you look around the room and tell me if you recognize the wallpaper?”

Grumbling, she tugs the comforter low enough to glance around. And she does indeed recognize the yellow and green wallpaper that belongs at least four decades in the past. The colors are even more obnoxious to her eyes in her current state, so she hurriedly covers back up. “Yes, it’s the hotel I’m staying at. Why’re you asking, Asama?”

“Because in my lap right now I’m looking at a headline announcing that Nohr’s hero is no longer a bachelor and a head of very familiar red hair is splashed across the cover image.”

She must have heard wrong; he was talking nonsense. “What are you talking about?”

“Hinoka, I bought at least five magazines this morning because of their articles detailing how Miss Byakuya became Missus Anya at one of those wedding chapels last night.”

“No.” He can’t be serious.

“Hinoka.” He sounds serious. “Is that actually your room?”

Ignoring the pains and aches of her body and brain, Hinoka slid herself up enough for her head to be propped by the pillow and lowered the blankets for a good look. The first and most damning evidence is the fact that the room has a single queen-sized bed rather than twins. Secondly she spies only a single set of luggage, black instead of her red. None of her equipment is scattered across the table, instead it houses a sleek laptop which is closed but charging. Although this room is in the hotel she’s checked into, this is not in fact her room.

She swallows a scream but likely yells at the phone. “Asama!”

“Calm down, calm down.” That infuriatingly light tone was back. “You know where you are, so no need to panic. Is Marx there?”

“I don’t know.” She checks again, and as she’s observed earlier Hinoka is alone in bed. She doesn’t hear any noise from the bathroom and the light isn’t on in any areas of the room. “No, he’s not here.”

“Alright. Then you need to stay there and wait until he gets back.”

“What!? How can you say that?” She hisses at him, able to perfectly picture the careless smile on his stupid face.

“Because all the evidence points to you being in Marx’s room right now. And if he’s not there, I’m betting he’ll be back soon. If you’re gone who knows how he’ll react?”

Hinoka hates it when her boss is logical.

“Okay fine.” She kicks off the covers, ignoring the twinges in her legs and wobble-walks to the bathroom. She isn’t going to keep talking with her throat parched. After pouring and drinking a glass of water, she demands. “What’ll I say to him when he shows up?”

“Ya lyublyu tebya.” Asama carefully pronounces the Nohrian words. “Tell him that and I can guarantee he’ll be nothing but smiles.”

“I’m not saying something I don’t even know the meaning to.” Part of her is tempted to turn on the bathroom light, but the better part of her elects to drink another glass of water. “Gods, how can we be married— I don’t even understand what he’s saying most of the time!”

“Cyrkensia’s famous for its no-questions-asked wedding chapels.” She hears the sound of paper pages being turned. “From the average time reported by these articles you likely stumbled into one after leaving the bar and tied the knot.”

Hinoka tries to remember beyond the bar last night— it’s only fuzzy flashes of a low voice and calloused hands. Which tells her nothing really. He could’ve been helping her stay upright when walking since she'd been completely hammered. With a sigh she gives up trying to battle her growing headache for memories.

This is all her boss’s fault. “How could you leave us alone at that bar!”

“You two were fine. Better than fine, I felt like a third wheel.” She wishes she could reach through the phone and strangle him. “Around 2:30 AM you took a cab back to the hotel and charged it to the company card.” Asama’s undoubtedly looking at said account that very moment. “You’d get one together cause you’re staying at the same hotel. Be a waste of money not to.”

Hinoka wipes a hand down her face and that’s when she feels it— the metal of a ring around her fourth finger. She really got married. “Asama… did you witness the marriage?” She has to ask.

“Nope, I was long gone by then. Your witness was probably one of those impersonators that can be found on every block of the city.” He's flipping pages again. “Probably was the same person who gave the gossip rags these crappy cellphone pictures of you climbing Marx like a tree.”

Hinoka groans, “My life is over!” There's no way they can quietly get an annulment, not with a media feeding frenzy going on and the both of them slated to stay for the rest of the tournament. They're guaranteed to be seen in close proximity, it doesn’t matter that Hinoka'll be on the other side of a camera lens— the paparazzi will still be snapping shots of her with him to paste headlines on top of.

“It’s a shame you have such a view on marriage, Hinoka.” Her boss has the gall to laugh when she literally growls at him. “Stop worrying about it! Just endure this month and then you can get a divorce.”

Divorced at twenty-six after a month of marriage, perfect. No decent man in Hoshido will want to date her with that label. Not that she’s had a long term boyfriend after she broke up with Tsubaki four years ago. It’s bad enough that her parents send her worried looks when asking about her love life, there’s no way they’ll just let her getting drunk married in Cyrkensia to a man from Nohr slide.

“You really want us to just go on as business as usual, don’t you?” She snarls into the phone.

“I can buy you a wedding gift if you’d prefer.” He’s back to teasing— which means he isn’t worried like he had been at the start of the call. It’s both infuriating and strangely calming. “But really, what else can we do? Trying to hide it means we can’t do our jobs. And Marx isn’t going to not fight.”

No, Hinoka’d feel terribly guilty if Marx stepped out of the tournament when he's so close to the championship. As much as she hates her boss’s stupid logic, Asama is right. If they carried on she’d get the money shots, he’d write the articles, Marx'd win for his family, and once the champion has been named then the media will calm down. After this month it can be dealt with.

“Fine! Fine. I’ll try to tell Marx.”

“Oh, y’know one of these articles mentioned that Marx can read and write Nestra standard fluently.” She prays to the gods that Asama hadn’t actually known this yesterday, or he really is a dead man.

There’s a noise from the other side of the room. Hinoka realizes it’s coming from the front door, so she tells Asama one last thing. “You get to explain the situation to Ryouma.” Then hangs up before he can wail his despair.

She ducks behind the bathroom doorjamb as the door opens and the morning light floods in blindingly. Thankfully, it’s quickly shut and after a few blinks she sees Marx walking in balancing bagged packages of takeout and a tray of covered drinks. His sunglasses and black leather outfit has her thinking of the Terminator, and a giggle sputters out of Hinoka before she can stifle it.

Marx’s head immediately snaps to her hiding place in the bathroom doorway. But rather than stomping over, he sets the packages down and calls out, _“Hinoka?”_

She grabs the bathrobe hanging on the door to cover her slept-in, day-old clothes and steps out into the room as she calls back. _“Here, Marx.”_

Only then does he remove his sunglasses, and the dark rings under his eyes are like a punch to her gut. As she rushes over though he simply grabs one of the covered drinks from the tray and holds it out to her. _“Coffee.”_

Hinoka doesn’t usually drink the stuff, but she wants to bless him for getting it on this hellish morning. She accepts the cup of coffee gratefully and takes a long sip. When she realizes he’s watching her, she thanks him and he reaches for a cup himself, taking far less delicate swallows.

Soon enough he’s crushing the empty cup in his hand, and he gestures to the takeout boxes. _“Food.”_

The gesture draws her eyes to his hands, and she spies a ring on his finger— simple, gold, but it obviously fits. He surprises her by pulling out a chair for her to sit, but it lets her catch his hand. She points to his ring and then herself. _“Do you know what happened last night?”_

He grimaces, and reaches into the bag that holds the takeout. It seems during his time outside he’d purchased a notebook and pens. Marx opens it and writes something, when he turns it so that she can read it— the neatness and beauty of his handwriting is the first thing she notices. Snapping herself out of it, she reads what he’s written in Nestra standard.

_I’m sorry. We wed last night, I don’t remember it. Are you okay?_

She takes the notebook and pen, scribbles out a response.

_I’m fine, though surprised. I don’t remember it either._

Marx’s expression relaxes minutely as he reads it. But he quickly writes another question.

_What do you want to do?_

Hinoka resists chewing on the pen as she tries to find the right words.

_Can we just go on as planned? You need to concentrate on the tournament. I’ll still be photographing you. When the month is over then we can deal with the legal stuff._

His brow doesn’t furrow when he reads, though he looks up at her and back to the page twice. It’s a long moment before he pens his response.

_If that’s what you want. We’ll stay married for the month and then decide the next step after._

She nods to him and he nods back, and they both take their seats at the table. As much as the coffee is perking her up, Hinoka knows eating something will help chase away the hangover. They open one box and reveal squares of sandwiches made from wholegrain slices of bread and poached eggs with grilled tomatoes. It’s quickly emptied between them.

But as Hinoka’s licking her finertips clean, Marx puts a plastic fork onto the remaining box and slides it towards her. Before she can ask he’s written the answer.

_It’s bird’s milk cake, popular in Nohr. Hope you like it._

**Author's Note:**

> ya lyublyu tebya = я люблю тебя  
> Russian for "I love you"
> 
> Ptichie Moloko is the 'bird’s milk' cake Marx is referencing. "Bird's milk" is an idiom of ancient Greek origin meaning "an unobtainable delicacy".
> 
> Some [META on the AU](https://damoselceles.dreamwidth.org/3636.html) for the curious.


End file.
